


Probabilities

by notsafefortheworld



Category: Undertale
Genre: GenderfluidOC, Sans - Freeform, Sanstheskeleton, Teya - Freeform, don'treadthisit'sterrible, grillby - Freeform, ventwriting, wellthatescalatedfast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsafefortheworld/pseuds/notsafefortheworld
Summary: Monsters are no longer Underground. You don't see many of them, living in the city, but they're people anyway and, honestly, you try to keep to yourself out of habit by this point. Doesn't always work, but at least you can say you tried.It's kind of hard to keep to yourself when you just knocked into some poor, short monster right in front of the train, and he ended up dropping everything he was holding.





	1. Chapter 1

You bump into a stranger on a train platform. Apologizing profusely, you bend down to help them gather their scattered belongings. Predictably, you piss off a lot of people still trying to get _off_ the train, as well as the ones trying to get on it. Oh well. You're already feeling bad about something, you don't have the time to apologize to all of them!  
The stranger seems to be waiting for something. You hand him (you get the _impression_ they're a 'he', though wouldn't put it past yourself to be wrong) the books you managed to collect with an apologetic half-smile, then move to go about your business.  
A solid grip on your arm has you swinging, but you manage to stop before you connect with....whatever his face is made out of. (He's actually adorably short. You're a little worried about him getting carried away by the crowd.)  
"Oh my god, I am _so_ sorry. I didn't..!" He looks...kind of resigned, actually.  
"I am _so sorry_ , I didn't mean to try to hit you, it's just a reflex to getting grabbed!" It is, actually. You would be covering your face with your hands, but you've been in public. In the city. You know better.   
His expression morphs into one of confusion. [This whole exchange has taken perhaps thirty seconds. _If_ that.]  
"But, um, we're kind of halting the flow of traffic? And my train's _that_ way, and I'm sure you-" have stuff to do, is what you were going to say, before he sticks a hand out for you to shake. You stare, then realize you're being extremely rude.  
"Woah. Okay. Sorry. I'm so sorry. _Your hand is bone!_ " You jump up and down for a few seconds.  
" _That's so_ **cool!** " You come (slightly) back down.  
"Oh!" You take the nice skeleman's hand and shake it with hopefully the right amount of firmness. You don't want them to feel strangled, but they shouldn't be shaking a dead fish, either! That's the rule of thumb your teacher gave you.  
Amusingly enough, she was a science teacher, not an etiquette one, but she taught you most of what you know about it. (And the rest of the class! You aren't, just! A pig, or something!)  
He blinks at you, seeming...well, a little startled. You release his hand and look down, abashed. Great. You've already managed to knock someone's things over because you weren't paying enough attention _and_ now he'll think you hate monsters and are covering or have some weird, necrophilia fetish. Or something. Agh. [You don't see the grin slowly spreading across his face.]  
"wow. that's, uh. probably the most honest reaction that isn't, uh. Negative." The final word has a bit more emphasis, for some reason. You dare a glance up, realize you're still obstructing the flow, and nod your head the way you need to go. To get out of the people-herd, at least. You exhale carefully. _Thank you_ , social anxiety. And you thought you were doing well today, too! He isn't bothering trying to talk over the unintelligible intercom, and neither are you. It stops after a few moments, a second or two after you've come to a bench serving as something of a rock in the people-stream.  
Well, it does when there are people coming this way. There aren't, now. They've mostly all boarded or gotten off if they're going to.  
You mentally wave the train goodbye, and wish it wasn't quite so loud.   
Should have brought your headphones today, or some earplugs.   
You scan over your...ah, acquaintance? But you think you have to be on at least mildly friendly terms - or at least know the other person's _name_ \- to be considered that. And that-person-who-I-nocked-into-at-the-train-station is a bit mouthy, evn if you abbreviate 'train station' to 'subway'. (Ah, underground trains. Will wonders -and the horror movies based on them- never cease?) You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture you never really bothered to get rid of.  
"Um, I'm Yin. Sorry I crashed into you. I really kind of have to get going, though, or I'll miss my train! Or, well, I might miss it, if it comes early, and that would be very bad, because I don't know when the next one going that way'll come." By the end, the edges of his eyesockets are crinkled with mirth. You're familiar with this reaction to your rather _effusive_ manner of talking. It comes and goes. You don't care either way so long as it gets the point across. With strangers, though, you tend to be a little less direct. Sometimes.  
(Dammit. _Your hand is made of bones_.  Thank you, filter. Glad you kept _that_ one out of the conversation! Jesus!)  
His grin has made a comeback. The hand not holding his books is shoved in the pocket of a jacket. (You like making people smile, so you don't mind - you don't think he's making fun of you.)  
"Anyway, so. I, um, have to go! Bye!" You wave enthusiastically before practically darting away.  
Oh goodness, you looked like a fool. Not the talking and running off-that's pretty normal, for you. But you _ran into_ the poor guy, then held up the bloody subway commuters! Can you do _anything_ right?  
 _Yes_ , you remind yourself. _I can grow plants. Mostly successfully. I can usually make people smile. Sometimes I can even make them laugh! And....lots of people seem to like me, but that's not an accomplishment. Um.._. You're caught up in thought, but there aren't many people around, anyway. Nobody with malicious intent towards _you_ , at least, and that's all you're honestly paying attention to, even at the back of your mind. (It'd have to be a _really_ big spike towards somebody else for you to notice it! You'd be kind of scared and wouldn't know what to do then.)   
So you don't notice the monster you knocked into walking at a respectful distance beside you. _I can...grow plants really well. I already said that. I'm good at languages._ **You didn't do anything with that.**  You wince internally and brush the thought away. _I can...I can.._. You can't think of anything else you're good at for a few seconds, and are starting to be discouraged.  
 _I do well with animals!_ Pleased with yourself -you managed to salvage _that_ fiasco-  
Not until you sit down at the bench where you're supposed to be, at least, and then you come back out of your thoughts.  
-you blink out of your thoughts and realize that, while you're never really _alone_ in New York, you're _really_ not alone now.  
Worry prickles in your chest. Is he looking to start something? You didn't get that air from him, but some people are good at hiding what's underneath. He stands in front of you, at a comfortable distance. Well, you'll be cautious, but he probably just. Wanted?   
Something. Maybe you  scuffed one of his books and he's mad. Or genuinly upset. Oh, no. That would be terrible.  
His grin isn't quite _mirthful_ anymore. It almost looks pained. (There's a word for it...when you can't stop smiling, or something. You think it has to do with corpses, not that it's some obscure medical condition. Of course then you think _corpses_ which connects to _skeleton_ which makes you wonder musingly if he sleeps in a coffin, because you really doubt he actually does just because he _looks_ like he's a human skeleton. After all, he's actually alive. Even ghost monsters are actually...well, they're kicking, at least. Maybe not the alive part. You still doubt he sleeps in a coffin.)   
So, to recap the last two or so minutes of your life: You knocked into a skeleton monster and made him drop his stuff by accident, beat yourself up a bit mentally over it, and then noticed he had followed you to your stop.  
And you're not sure if you're creeped out or not, as a mental excercise. Also, you want to know if he squishes like humans do, because his face moves but he's definitely skeleton-themed. He didn't even deny it when you said it. Well, kind of said it.  
But it's rude to squish strangers. And also dangerous. Your mama taught you well! (Actually, you've always been naturally cautious. Especially with people, because a lot of the time you have a hard time reading them.)  
At the moment, his smile says 'I'm a friendly stranger' but there's something just the tiniest bit off (you wouldn't notice if you weren't constantly looking for signs of people getting tired of you, so maybe it's just projection) about his pupils {Are they pupils? Would it be more accurate to call them eyelights?} and the odd emptiness surrounding them (not odd in a _bad_ way, but so very different from what everyone you know looks like! You've seen a few animal monsters, maybe the occasional Snowdrake [a minutely clever name. You wonder if they ever regret making their last names a pun, though. It is rather clever, so maybe not. It's dual-layered!] but nobody with eyes -er, eyesockets- like this.).   
[...You're getting dangerously tangential. What is it about monsters that makes you feel at ease? They don't _quite_ have the same effect as animals, but (and you hope this isn't racist) they kind of have this...hum? You sort of presume it's their magic, and leave it at that. You're mildly curious, but not enough to risk offending someone with your ignorance.  
The internet had no useful answers, mostly trying to teach you how to nose-sing once you got slightly (okay, very) off-track.  
It was educational, but not on the topic you'd hoped for.]  
"uh, i realized," he sounds somewhat nervous, fidgeting just slightly.  
"i didn't tell you my name." You blink at him. If the train comes in the middle of this conversation, you'll feel horrible, but you'd have to go.  
But you don't mind the company otherwise, even if that thought is mildly nerve-wracking. Your head rotates a little. He fidgets more intensely before hesitating, then nearly bolts forward to sit on the bench beside you.  
But not too close. He's very considerate of your personal space, which is a rather (as in extremely) rare quality.  
You decide you kinda like the little skeleman. (It will be a nickname remaining only in your head, until/unless it seems apropos, as in not a faux pas.) He hasn't offended _you_ yet, which admittedly doesn't take much.  
"sans," he blurts. He seems to be getting incredibly nervous. How odd. Has something _you've_ done unsettled him, or...?  
"your, uh. your SOUL just changed color," he exclaims, except not loudly. But there's a glint of some weird kind of excitement. You raise an eyebrow.  
"I take it that's unusual. Also. Isn't it. _Super_ rude to look at people's SOULs without their permission?" You've heard that much.  
Looking at it when it's _out_ is fine, apparently (touching has varying levels of controversy, though you haven't yet been able to discover _why_ , exactly, and chock it up to human...well, human. Humans are always leery of _new_. SOULs being actual, tangible things? Yeah, didn't go down so well with some religious, ah, institutions. [Loony bins, the lot of em. Not because anybody who believes in a higher being is insane (even if you mostly think they're just fooling themselves) but because the nuts rise to the top in that kind of arrangement. The people naturally predisposed to raking up trouble are not _also_  usually predisposed with a) healthy amounts of logic or b) concern over the fact that other people can have their own opinions without them being the _same_ as said fanatics. Woops, did you say fanatics? You meant. Uh.  
...  
Yeah, overtly religious people can fuck off. It makes you uncomfortable. You're pretty sure it makes _everyone_ uncomfortable, but you can't say anything because then you're an ass, apparently.  
Assholes. Ugh.)  
"wrath is supposed to be a secondary characteristic," his voice is oddly strained-sounding. You shrug.  
"My mom always said I was unique. I suppose this counts. Or maybe not. There's probably loads of people who have color-changing SOULs. But, uh. Dude. Get your eye-light-things off my SOUL. That's really rude and I'd appreciate it if you _not_ , even though I don't think you're actually being creepy so much as rude. But you're about to cross the line." That said, you feel a little mellower. My, you're fluid today.  
"back to blue," he murmurs.  
You do what any reasonable woman would do.  
You slap him.  
(Pf. You're neither reasonable nor a woman. Who fell for that. Really.)  
Not hard, but enough to feel bad because he's _small_ and you don't want to hurt him, but he needs to _listen_ and whatever trance he's in kind of has you a little freaked out as well as the fact that you _just told him not to do that_. He blinks up at you, an odd blue print left where you smacked him. You wince, immediately feeling bad, and rub at it lightly with the palm of your hand.  
"Sorry," you apologize.  
"But you weren't listening. If I knew you better, I _might_ say you could take my SOUL out and do...whatever color-examiny-things you were doing, but you're literally a stranger I bumped into at the sub. And you seem like a nice person, but, um." Your face does this confused thing where it blushes slightly while darkening.  
"There's. Things other people should not see. Especially not perfect strangers." He's just kind of staring up at you, which is when you realize you're way too close.  
Dammit. You snap away, hands up apologetically.  
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to get in your space-" He shoves something at you, wide-eyed. It's lucky you can read monsters pretty easy normally, and that this guy is so...well...  
..unthreatening? Otherwise you would've just whacked his phone out of his hands. Thankfully, you recognized it for twitchiness, not, uh, someone trying to shank you.  
[You aren't paranoid about living in the city. Not at all.  
You have statistics.  
 _They are coming for you_.]   
"phone. um. phone number." [God, he's a physicist. He could recite complex mathematical equations without pause after just a glance, and he was stuttering over asking for a _phone number_.]  
You raise your eyebrows at him slowly, before looking down at the phone that has been unceremoniously shoved in your hands. You cough.  
"I actually, um, don't have a phone." He looks incomprehensive for a moment, before shock takes over.  
"really?" His eyesockets are narrowed like he thinks you're trying to pull one over on him.  
"Really. Never liked the things. A phone should be...aw, hell, who'm I kiddin. I just don't like phones. I useta lose em all the time, and it wasn't worth the effort. Plus, you have to _charge_ it, and not to mention the _bills_..." You trail off.  
"I use, um, email. I presume you have one of those?" He blinks, probably thrown into shock by the simulatneous assualt of your lack of new-age tech [You still use the computer your kind-of-adopted-sibling's parents gave you for graduation. It's well-loved, and has nary a sticker because you don't want to ruin the _perfection_ , even if it does turn off if you accidentally bump the bottom of it too hard, or sometimes freezes up for no reason you can discern, or refuses to play games you alreayd bought and played quite succesfully on a computer with _much_ lower specs without enormous amounts of lag.  
It's your baby, the first real computer you ever had (that little bitty red laptop couldn't even run _Minecraft_ without lagging every other second. The FPS was _abominable_. Still better than a Chrom Book, though. Basically clunky Google tabs given physical form. You thought the future was supposed to be _sleeker_ , not...clunky and with a nasty texture. You never liked the texture of those laptops. Plus, they just were _tiny_. It was impossible to get anything done because you couldn't even see the whole document! Insane!) that was actually _yours_ , given to _you and no one else_.  
You have a massive possessive streak. You also really don't want your mom to find favorite fanfics and or imagery of the, shall we say, less _public_ kind, and also preferred not to traumetize your younger siblings, who are _such brats it's not even funny_. Seriously.  
Of course, you admin-locked your folder (you being yourself an admin, and ignoring the little message that said an admin wouldn't be able to alter or in any way _access_ said folder....you kind of thought the computer was smarter than that.  
It was not the computer's fault. It did exactly what you asked it to do, yes it did, Old Faithful. Computers are kind of like dogs, after all. And you've cooingly encouraged it through many a minor breakdown. As with most of your _actual_ dogs.)   
and your frequently shifting mood. You look at the phone in your hands. It's the old-fashioned type, where you actually have to push buttons to text. (So, either he's low on cash, he doesn't care about or _want_ something fancy, he's old fashioned, he doesn't know _how_ to use newer phones, there's some particular aspect of them he doesn't like-there are way too many possibilities for you to really get much useful information from the fact that he has a flipphone alone.)  
You open the phone (the poor thing looks so lost, honestly) and enter a bunch of zeros as your phone number, then type _Yin_  (you consider tapping in 'with the freaky SOUL', but refrain. You think you've, uh, zig-zagged enough around him. He looks ready to have an aneurism.) and input your social email under 'further information' before handing it back to him. You didn't bring a notebook or anything, but you figure he'll probably email anyway.  
His entire face is blue. [Oh god they're hot and I was staring at their SOUL like a creep.-but in more Sansish speech.]  
You wonder why. It doesn't _look_ like he's having a hard time breathing, at all. Does he need to breathe, anyway? You decide to ask, just to be safe.  
"Are you okay? Your face is blue. I only ask because in humans that usually means you're, uh, dying from lack of oxygen...?" Your voice trails off. He blinks once, then lets out a strangled sort of   
'heh'. You recieve no further response, but get the impression it's just because he's mildly freaking out, not having a hard time breathing. You hand his phone back.  
"Here. Obviously, I don't have yours, so if you want to get into contact...if we end up meeting somewhere, it's going to be public. Obviously. No offense, but I don't know you or why the hell you're interested in my SOUL, but I _am_ curious and willing to learn, s'long as you stop staring at it when it's in me. And don't, like, try to steal it or something, but I don't think you're that kind of person." He actually looks slightly offended at that.  
"what, just because i'm a monster-" you cut him off before he gets worked up.  
"No, just because your a monster means you can _absorb_ it. D'you know what a SOUL goes for on the black market?" The color drains out of his face.  
"...black market?" You nod.  
"There's a black market for _everything_. They're mostly used for medical research-backdoor kind of stuff. Coma patients, that kinda thing. Rich families who don't care about the ethics so long as _their_ family member doesn't, y'know. Die." You shrug.  
"Humans are bad people. Not _all_ of em, but I tend to stay away. You should, too. You're less likely to get hurt that way. And no, that wasn't a threat. Or a promise, or however any of those silly movie lines go." You tilt your head. His expression is still shocked and kind of blank.  
"You need me to call someone for you? Have them bring you home?" He shakes his head, blinks, shakes it again as if to break out of his thoughts.  
"nah. just...didn't expect that." You make a face.  
"If it _can_ be done, assume some human somewhere _is_ or _has_ done it, regardless of morals." You hate the injustice of the world, but have learned you can't fix everything. Your train (you heard it as it approached, which is why you asked him if he'd be okay) pulls up and stops, slowly. You search his expression, just to be sure. He looks a little down, but seems to be back to himself.  
"K. Well." You hesitate, draw yourself together.  
"It was interesting meeting you." You manage a bright smile.  
"I hope you enjoy your books!" You bow slightly before striding off to your train. This time, you aren't followed.  
_____________________________________  
It's four days before you hear back. You were just starting to wonder if maybe he wouldn't be able to bring himself to do it-it seemed like he might have social anxiety, as well? (To be honest, you really wanted to give him a hug and tell him everythign would be alright, but that's. People take advantage of you if you open up that fast. You know that, so you don't. Or, at least, you try really hard not to. It's kind of inevitable, anyway.) despite the fact that he'd seemed really interested in our SOUL, in a scientific sort of way. You wonder if that's what he does for a living-SOUL research-or if it's just a hobby. Or maybe it's common knowledge, and he just...was interested, for some reason? Scientific credit, maybe? You don't think that's it. He struck you as the sciency sort, which is kind of cool. You don't have the attention span for it, at least not consistently, but admire the people who do. You check your email, and find one from 'Doctor Serif' (the last name sounds very familiar, as a _term_ , but you can't think of what it _is_. You put it aside for the moment.)   
'meet me in ____ park at 11 on saturday if that works. i'll be the one in the hoodie'  Short notice. You dislike short notice; it's only the day after tomrrow. You like to plan things a bit in advance. Then again, you don't like getting out in the first place, so. It doesn't really matter. You can _smell_ the difficulty he had putting this together. It's kind of sad-not pitiful-disgust sad, but poor woobie kind of sad. (It's actually surprisingly easy to read people over electronics - at least, to get the information. Actually, sometimes it's _easier_ because it's set in a single state-you can re-read the message to feel what they were feeling, if they're a particular effusive person. Not that you can _always_ do it-like many parts of your life, being empathic comes and goes. Partially depending on how much you actually _care_.   
Knowing what to _do_ with the information, or what exactly it _means_ , is the tricky part.) He was shy, and he's not used to being shy. You don't know what to do with that, so just file it away for potential later study or use.   
You consider your schedule briefly. You have Saturday off, so that's not an issue. You can't think of what else you might need to do, though there's a nagging feeling that there's _something_. Oh, well. If you push you'll _never_ remember. You consider your reply. (You smile slightly at the last line - as if you could forget a short skeleton that easily.)  
'Alright. I'll be the one in technicolor.' Your mouth quirks at the double meaning. You wonder if he'll catch it?   
You look up 'Serif', and keel over laughing.  
_____________________________  
The park is, as you might expect, crowded. There are children running and shrieking, teenagers engaged in dubious activities, and elderly folk power-walking in what you consider unflattering clothing. It doesn't even look _comfortable_.   
Finding a considerably short skeleton in the park (which sounds like the punchline to some kind of joke) is actually....rather easy, because a lot of people dodge around the few monsters present. (There's a little ting of irritation at that.) The first empty zone you surreptitiously pass has some kind of....brown UFO-shaped monster that gives you the willies. Your lip curls and you keep your distance out of disgust. You can smell the BO from _here_. You can't even tell what he's _doing_ , but it's irritating and noisy. Locking your jaw, you continue on, praying he doesn't call out to you.  
He doesn't, thankfully. Take a deep breath once you pass the BO-zone, and scan your surroundings. You follow the cobbled path (an odd little piece of charm, in a city; it's like someone decided the city was too _new-age_ and _urban_ , so they decided to try and pack as much of a fairy-cottage-garden style into one place as possible. It works, admittedly.) to the next spot people detour around, which isn't quite as large, and note a familiar signature. It's him, alright.  
You're kind of looking forward to this. You've never really had an opportunity to ask questions about SOULs, and, oddly enough, there isn't much information online. You kind of figure he sort of owes you, for letting him check out your SOUL.  
Then something has you coming to a screeching halt. How the hell is he supposed to pull your SOUL out in _public_? There are a bunch of humans around. They'll think he's attacking you.   
Perhaps he has a workaround, or there's something you're unaware of about the process. In any case, you aren't going to stand him up, and he's the one who suggested meeting here. (You _did_ tell him it had to be a public place.) Hands in your pockets (goodness, you love overalls) you walk the fifteen or so steps.   
He's sitting on a bench, seemingly asleep. You'd consider that foolhardy-except he's _not_ asleep. Someone comes a little closer than usual, and he opens half an eyesocket, lazily. They quickly correct their trajectory. You're not sure whether it's rude, amusing, or both. His eyesocket closes again. You can _see_ the moment he notices you. A bead of sweat (magic. Weird.) appears on his temple, though he pretends to still be asleep. He's too easy to mess with. You might as well enjoy it. You consider doing something infantile like saying 'boo' beside where his ear would be, but that would be invading boundaries. You settle for sitting down and pretending to sleep yourself. It takes less than ten seconds to seem, for all the world, like you're asleep. It takes two for the eye nearest you to pop open (you watch amusedly from not-in-your-body), and another for him to actually turn his head. After that, he seems to war with himself, one hand twitching as if he's going to raise it to shake your shoulder, and he becomes steadily more nervous as you sink into yourself.   
You'll find this _hilarious_ when you're not regulating your emotions to emulate sleep. Belatedly, you realize you didn't think of where to _end_ this prank.  
You feel him look at your SOUL (but not with his eyes) and react to the intrusion before you can stop yourself. Your arm is halfway raised before you can stop it because _that's private_ and you open your eyes _in_ your body and halt it from coming down. You halt altogether for a moment to look at him. He's frozen in place, which surprises you for some reason. You lower your arm as you speak, somewhat carefully.  
"I'd say sorry, but. I _did_ already tell you to stop doing that.  _How_ many times? I'm sure it's not the proper response, but I also don't know what is. Not that I'd actually like to hit you." You frown and drop your eyes.  
"Also, I could actually _feel_ you looking at it, which was majorly unsettling. I wouldn't have tried to hit you otherwise. It, uh. Kind of startled me. Sorry." Sure, you slap him the first time - because you needed to establish a boundary and he wasn't listening to words. This time, you kind of started it. Sort of. Also, whatever's going on in that funny head of his, you're well aware it isn't malicious. You really try to make it not a habit to hit people, because. Abuse. Abuse is a _bad_ thing. But you're also not sure how else to get the point across, because you tried words and you hit him once and he _still_ didn't listen!  
His face is fully blue.  
"i, uh. sorry," he mumbles.  
"i was kind of worried you might be dying." You let that process for a minute.  
" _Dying?!_ " His eyelights flick up to meet yours.  
"y-your SOUL went dim," he explains. Well, yes. That's what it's like, when you manage to sleep well. Which admittedly isn't often. You blink at him.  
"Haven't you heard of _meditating?_ " You ask. You shake your head. He makes an odd kind of sound.  
"w-when, uh. before. monsters. have you heard of falling down?!" He asks, mildly desperately.   
"Yeah. It's...monsters do it before...it's kind of like a coma, for humans. Right?" You ask, raising your eyes. Though don't  _look_ him in the eye, because this is probably going to be a long interaction, and you're trying to save energy.He nods, looking just a bit relieved that he doesn't have to explain it.  
"i-it's kind of like...like that. you go...empty inside." You blink at him. Then it hits.   
"I wasn't _empty_ inside." He blinks, decides not to question how, exactly, you know what he means _quite_ yet, and focus on something else.  
"n-no, but, you were...getting there." You huff.  
"I wasn't _dying_ , I was just _somewhere else!_ It's hard to see without eyes  from inside your own body!" You inform him (not angrily). Immediately you clam up. _No no no now he's gonna think I'm crazy_ -your eyes are firmly down. You're distinctly aware of your face flushing, miserably. You pull in on yourself, preparing for verbal attack, and feel a small crack.  
"woah woah woah don't do that _please_ don't do that i'm sorry i said i thought you were dying!" Something internal hiccups. You slowly raise your gaze, brow furrowed. His hands are up, fingers-phalanges-splayed out and eyesockets wide.  
You wait a moment, confused. (Inside still feels wrong, stilted and lopsided and cramped. You don't want to be in a box but at least in a box _no one else_ can hurt you, not until you come out. And the pain isn't as bad when it isn't fresh, at least.)   
"I-I don't...you aren't...aren't you going to...?" Call you crazy? He seems perplexed.  
"going to...?" His tone is cautious-walking on eggshells cautious, not set-off-a-bear cautious. (That he isn't afraid of you, after you slapped him once and almost hit him, makes you feel a lot better, at least.).  
"Call me...crazy? Or something like that?" He blinks. Then blinks again. Then doubles over laughing.  
You aren't really sure how to react to that.  
He realizes you're staring at him in more than mild bewilderment, and stops laughing.  
"....why would i call you crazy?" You blink at him. Then do it again. You hope your face is adequately conveying your confusion. You eventually shrug, not wanting to try to explain it because maybe it just slipped by him or something but honestly you don't really have the, uh, fortitude to try and explain something like that right now. He eyes you for a moment before standing.  
"i, uh. wanted to bring you somewhere, actually. if that's okay." His feet shuffle. You wait for him to elaborate, because it seems like he's going to.  
"it's a monster bar." You raise an eyebrow. He throws up his hands.  
"it's actually kind of, uh, more of a lounge during the day. serves burgs. SOUL stuff isn't, uh," his eyes shift to the passersby.  
"the best to do around...most humans." He says carefully. You nod and stand.  
"If it's a monster bar, is it alright for me to be there?" You ask, head slanted. He relaxes.  
"don't really see you picking fights with the regulars." You shrug.  
"Not because they're monsters, at least. If somebody gropes me, Imma hit 'em, monster or not. Fair's fair." You probably wouldn't, actually. You'd be too shocked, and then you would probably start screaming at them, but you probablt wouldn't knee-jerk-reaction hit someone because they groped you. Maybe. It's not like it's happened before.  
His grin makes a reappearance. (It's a facade, but it makes you more comfortable, because he's pretending everything's alright which means you don't have to have an awkward conversation about it, at least not right now.)   
"nah. they know grillbz'd kick their asses if they _ass_ aulted a girl." The conversation grinds to a stop for a second, as does the smile that had started to creep it's way up your face. You stuff your hands in your pockets.  
You don't know whether to mention it or not.  
....whatever. You've been misgendered for about two decades anyway. What's another day going to hurt (majorly.).  
"....what'd i say?" You startle, a little. You were off in your head, being bitter, for a few seconds. You let out a biting laugh.  
"Nothing, Sans. _Absolutely nothing_. Let's go, shall we?" He hesitates.  
"i'd rather know what i said so i don't say it again." It's said in a quiet tone of voice. You exhale, swallow, inhale.  
"I'm not a girl. I prefer neutral pronouns. I'm genderfluid. So, sometimes, I _am_ a girl, but most of the time I find it highly offensive to be called that. Or anything female, really." There's a bitter, floating feeling in your chest. He's going to say you're wrong about your own gender, or something horrible like that.  
But all he does is nod.  
"okay. sorry i didn't ask; i thought humans just came in the two genders. kinda stupid of me, huh?" And just like that, it pops. Your shoulders slump a little with not having to force them up. You exhale again, laugh quietly.  
"Not any stupider than me not asking _your_ gender because I was afraid it would open a can of worms given society's current standing on such things. What is it, by the way?" You ask. Your voice is still quiet.  
"he," he responds casually. And that's that. You hesitate.  
"I do....kind of have some questions. If that's okay." His head tilts, just a little, and you wonder if he's subconsciously (or consciously) imitating you, or if it's a habit of his.   
"'pends on the question." He doesn't sound like he would be bothered, regardless. He's rebuilding his facade.  
You won't be able to see him behind the mask. You dislike the thought of that.  
"Stop that." He blinks, thoroughly taken aback and mildly startled.  
"stop what?" You gesture.  
"The...wall, the mask. The _whatever_ it is. It's dishonest. Or..." You hesitate.  
"Not quite _dishonest_ so much as _unhealthy_. Although it's both, I suppose. Besides, I like to know what my conversational partners are thinking." He doesn't seem to know how to respond to that.  
Slowly, the wall descends. You nod affirmatively.  
"Thank you." He kind of not-quints at you.  
"you sure you're a human?" The question gives you pause.  
"....what else _could_ I be?" He blinks, shakes his head, (reflexively raises the wall before lowering it again, with a bit of a struggle. You check and make sure your _own_ walls are down, for fairness. There's an unusual light about your...well, now you call it your SOUL. You didn't really used to have a name for it.) and clears his throat lightly before continuing on.  
"anyway, uh...it's, a bit of a walk. grillby's. so, i was wonderin....if you'd like to take a shortcut?" He sounds a little daring, the tiniest bit hopeful. Your brow wrinkles.  
"Shortcut?" He nods, grin quirking up a bit. He removes one hand from his pocket to wiggle his fingers.  
"magic." Your eyes widen. That sounds so _cool_. Then they narrow.  
"Is it _dangerous?_ " He returns his hand to his pocket, seeming to be expecting this question.  
"nah." Hmmm.  
"Does it _hurt_?" He's actually grinning now, not just a reflexive facial expression.  
"nope." You have to keep this going. You want to see him smile more.  
"Will it make me puke?" He hesitates, holds out a hand with fingers close together.  
"this much of a chance." An eyebrow quirks at him before you can stop it. He snorts, and you laugh a little, eyes closing.  
"Alright, alright. Magic shortcut it is. How...?" You make a questioning expression. His turns suddenly very serious. He holds out a hand. You take it, after giving him a confused look. He pulls you over. (He's deceptively strong, actually. Considering he literally has no muscles. And, y'know. Is short.)   
" _don't_ let go. you probably won't, but if you let go, i might lose you, and it could be _very hard to find you again_." You swallow, feeling suddenly less sure about this. You pull away a little, though don't let go, and narrow your eyes at him.  
" _Lose_ me? I'm not a child in a mall." He chuckles, a little darkly.  
"where we're going, you might as well be. ready?" Your mouth twitches. Oh, bring it on. You nod determinedly.  
The world goes black.  
Or, rather, the world isn't there anymore, and what you _see_ is black, and nothing else-besides yourself, and Sans. Your grip tightens enough that you'd think the bones should be creaking, but they don't. The air pressure is off, the lighting seems to come from everywhere. It's oddly hard to breathe for a second or two, and then you can, but by then you aren't there anymore.   
You're somewhere else entirely. You stumble somehow on landing, eyes wide and breathing a little ragged. He cuts a look sideway.  
"you okay?" Actual mild concern.  
"What _was_ that, and _can we go there again?! That place was so weird!_ What was that!!?" You're bouncing up and down in place, excitement bubbling over everything else, even the fear of scorn, for a little while, because _what the hell was that that was so cool_. You can't really read him at the moment, you're too excited.  
"well. not the reaction i was expecting. should've known better." He sounds comedically self-scorning, for some reason. You stop bouncing for a second, eyes still wide and head tilted to the side.  
"Hm?" He snorts, but it isn't happy. Or at you.  
"lost a bet with myself. on both counts." [He'd expected you to be scared - of the Void. Of him.  
Of at least one of the two. He had _not_ expected jumping up and down and asking to go again like it was a fucking _rollar coaster ride_.] You blink at him, then shrug. You understand the last part but not, exactly, what he seems displeased about? In any case, it isn't good to dwell! You pull him forward - you never let go, because he told you not to and then you were getting your bearings and that just became part of them, you suppose - with a   
"Let's go! You promised me a burger!" He didn't, actually. He _said_ there were burgers. Potato, potato. Everyone knows if you mention food you have to proffer it. He _just_ manages to follow you instead of being tugged, but of course by that point you realize you have no idea where you're going and stop, so he bumps into you instead. You turn to grin at him.  
"Jeez, you're clumsy, aren't you?" You say teasingly, knowing full well it's your own doing. He doesn't seem to mind. Actually, he seems a little dazed, but not in a bad way, so. You take a step back/forward as you scan ahead.  
Grillby's. There. It looks like a pleasant kind of place. You pull forward again, but this time he's prepared. Shame. You'd kind of wanted to catch him off balance. Your grin twitches up again. (You feel your SOUL flare.) You stop again. You don't expect it, and neither does he.  
"bud, if you wanted me to _jump your bones_ , all you had to do was ask." You hush him, ignoring the pun for a more important question.  
"Is everyone in _there_ gonna stare at my SOUL, too?" He hesitates.  
"crap. i hadn't thought of that. uh..." He hesitates again, looks up at you. He's standing close enough that he has to, and you stifle the thought that it's cute. You barely know this guy. (You also don't even know if he _dates_ , let alone if he'd date someone with shifting gender - or female parts. Or. Non-skeletons. You're not really sure how monster culture works, but you have heard of the occasional monster-human couple. And it'd be just like you to get a crush on an asexual.)   
Dammit. It's still cute. You've never been good at lying to yourself. Or anyone else, really. [Lying by omission, however, you've become quite proficient at. People rarely see what they don't want to. Especially if they really don't want to see it.]   
"do you ever _stop?_ " He asks, perplexed.  
You do stop, for a second, then give him a very confused look. He wasn't looking at your SOUL. You'd be able to tell. He flushes, for some reason.  
"you're a very, ah, _effusive_ person. it's kinda easy ta tell what yer feeling." You blink at him. Something clicks in the back of your mind.  
"Is empathy... _normal_ , for monsters?" He nods immediately.  
"yeah. kinda weird it isn't, for most humans. i mean," he scratches his head,  
"there are some exceptions, but whether they use the same means of telepathy as monsters is debated." He's slipped into science-thoughtful mode.  
"Telepathy and empathy aren't necessarily the same thing." He looks back up at you, face blueing.  
"u-uh. sorry. i'll shut up with the, uh, science crap." He looks away. Your brow furrows, before you smack yourself in the face.  
"If you bored me, I would tell you. Believe me. But I try not to bite." You flash a smile.  
"Unless, of course, you want me to." You drag him forward and note with a smug sense of satisfaction that his face is _very_ blue (with not-your-eyes.) Of course, you almost stumble over the curb switching back over to your actual eyes, but it's totally worth it.   
"Of course, we've gotten way off topic. You'll have to tell me more about it at some other point; we should probably actually get to what we got together for, which is you telling me what the hell is weird about my SOUL and me letting you do the SOUL-pully-outty-thing and looking at it. Or. Whatever 'science thing's" you paraphrase him with a soft snort  
"you gotta do. 'S long as it isn't invasive, embarrassing, or painful. Or some combination of the above." After a very brief hesitation, you pull the door open. It's a lot smaller than you would imagine a bar to be; there are only a few free-standing tables, but there are booths separated for privacy - they actually have partitions that go all the way to the ceiling at the side, with curtains in the front that can be drawn. You wonder for a second if the owner doesn't worry about people engaging in certain activities behind said closed curtains, but it's not really relevant to you. Sans finally seems to get his feet under him. You feel the wall start to go up again in a well-practiced manner, but after a short internal struggle, he pushes it back down. You squeeze his hand.  
The few people present look up as the door opens, and you look back curiously, and hopefully at least somewhat friendly-looking.  
The bartender is living fire, which is. _How?!! Ohmygod that is so fucking -- - - -- -_. You can't even.  
You turn enthusiastically to Sans, eyes bright with wonder.  
" _Sans!_ " You hiss to him.  
" _He's made of fire! How does he not burn things?!_ " You pull back to see his expression, eyes still going _wow_. He blinks, jaw a little slack, blinks again, and lets out a genuine, pleased little  
"heh." You just smile at him, then tug his sleeve and turn back. You falter when you realize people are still staring- some in a not very friendly manner -head ducking and shoulders drawing up as you stare at the floor, overwhelmed with the potential _bad_.  
An arm lightly (barely touching, actually) settles around your waist. The scrutiny massively declines.  
"hey, everyone." Your keep your eyes glued to the floor. You follow obediently to one of the booths. He slides into one of the seats, and you sit beside him unthinkingly. He stiffens. You frown slightly, starting to edge back out.  
"Sorry, I-" Your sleeve is being held. You look back.  
Sans is holding your sleeve. Who else? He lets go and pats the seat beside him.  
"i don't take up a _skeleton_ of room." You raise your eyebrows.  
" _Nice_. Was the double-meaning intentional?" He raises his...eyeridges.  
"double meaning?" You give him a slightly smug, but also kind of incredulous, look.  
"Well, you're a skeleton. You _do_ take up a 'skeleton' of room." He smacks his face with his hand. It makes an odd sound.  
You kind of want to poke his face. That would still probably be socially uncouth, but you think you could get away with it.  
His voice is muffled by his hand, but not by much.  
"how did i not think of that." You grin. A very nondescript waiter comes by. You forget they're there as soon as you turn to Sans. When you see him looking at someone, you turn back around to look at Sans.  
This continues quickly a few more times before he stops you from turning with an almost painedly amused (like he _shouldn't_ be amused, but is) expression.  
"knock it off, klyde." You frown, feeling a little dizzy despite the fact that you're sitting, and turn to face Sans.  
"Knock what off?" You're starting to feel a little nauseous, as well as like someone's been messing with your _you_. You dislike the feeling immensely. You turn back to the waiter, eyes narrowed.  
"Are you Klyde?" There's a pause, then a nod. Your eyes narrow further.  
"I don't know _what_ you just did, but if I puke because of it, I will personally request that you have to clean it up. Also, if I am able and you do it again with my knowing, I will probably retaliate in some manner, because I do not enjoy being messed with." Your voice takes on an odd cadence, words precise and lilting and stopping and starting. Every syllable is very distinct. ('Your words dance, too', was what someone said to you once.) They blink, then nod slowly. A sharpish grin breaks out.  
"Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all. You narrow your eyes.  
"I wouldn't know. I can't remember what you did." You _hate hate hate_ not remembering. Natural fading is, well, natural fading. It's one thing. But just _not remembering_ is abominable. Sans leans around you and calls out.  
"grillbz, can we get a new waiter? klyde doesn't seem to like my human very much." The waiter makes a noise, but doesn't object, opting to simply walk away. You sigh, close your eyes, and turn to Sans after a few seconds of counting.  
"What did they do? I feel dizzy and nauseous and I _thought_ , correct me if I'm wrong, that _monsters aren't supposed to use magic on people without their consent_." His teeth are locked together. He looks pissed, eyesockets closed, and  

##### a whisper in the back of your mind reminds you of his strength and the fact that _he_ has magic, and maybe you should be afraid of him, too.

His eyesockets snap open at the flare, and you look down and swallow, heartbeat a little accelerated. _No_ , you tell yourself. **No**. You tamp down the fear like it's unruly bedding (which basically it is) and take a moment to compose yourself, including your expression, into something less...worrying. People shouldn't worry about you, in general. (But you've already started to think of Sans less like 'people' and more like an actual individual.)   
Then the phrasing _my human_ catches up to you, and you flush. You rub at your face, trying to get rid of the stress reaction. (You have very carefully have avoided touching anything in public today. At least, with your hands.) In any case, he's _way_ too in tune with you (and you're way too in tune with him) going by the fluctuations. You notice he has an inner wall, and raise an eyebrow. He winces and flushes at the same time.  
"that one's not comin down. surprised you don't have one." You shrug.  
"Never learned to build one. Never _needed_ it. Human empaths psych each other out. It's like a feedback loop..." You trail off. Huh. You can actually _talk_ about this kind of thing with someone, and not be wondering in the back of your head if you're crazy, or something absurd and horrifying like that.  
"Or, well. Not like a feedback loop, necessarily, unless it's a feedback loop of basically _static_. It's very disorienting." You make a face.  
"I don't like it. Mind you, I've only ever met one person who was the same way." You rest your chin on one hand, words unspooling carelessly.  
"So, maybe it was just the two of us together. But I don't think so. And occasionally there are people you just can't read. My ex-boyfriend, he..." You smack yourself.  
"I just brought up an ex-boyfriend! To someone I basically just met! Wonderful! Okay, ignore that part. _Someone_ I knew for a while - years, actually - and was rather....well, I _thought_ we were close - was very....flat. Flat tone. Flat facial expressions. Flat _sarcasm_ , if you can imagine that. Could never get a read on him, either. Couldn't even tell if it was because there was a misdirection, or there was simply _nothing_ there. Fascinating, but not what I want in a life partner. Aaaaand I mentioned him being my ex again. Great. Sorry." You roll your eyes over. He seems interested in your story, at least. Or, probably, the science behind it. You hold up a finger.  
"But _don't_ take my word for it, too much..." You're starting to get....very tired. You don't know why. You got the usual amount of sleep last night. You aren't feeling massively comfortable, or safe, which are usually what set you to sleep at unusual times or places.  You just....kind of want to sleep, all of a sudden. You droop a litte onto your hand, eyes half-closing, and cover your mouth with your other hand as you yawn. The nausea's gone, at least. The dizziness is more like a pleasant rocking...you let your head drift to the table. You'll just...  
______  
Sans hesitates before trying to shake their shoulder. He calls their name a few timess, in progessing states of not-quietness, before gingerly reaching out to do so lightly.   
They don't wake up. _Shit shit shit_. He very carefully lifts them with magic (he'd be afraid of knocking them into something if he tried to pick them up in the booth) before exiting himself. He justifies carrying them physically with the fact that being suspended in the air would probably freak them out. He ignores the gazes of the other patrons, striding up to the bar.  
"grillbz, can i have a word with you?" His flames flicker in surprise, before he nods. He tilts his head at Red.  
"You got it, boss. I'll keep the rabble *hic* under control!" They salute sloppily. He crackles a little before nodding for Sans to follow him to the back room. This area serves as the kitchen. They move to the employee lounge, which happens to be empty at the moment. No one's on break. Sans's composure is slipping away quickly, which surprises him. He usually hides whatever he's feeling behind a grin.  
"i-i don't  -  klyde memory'd em - they just - passed out? they said they were dizzy an nauseous." He states nervously. Grillby flickers, indicates for him to put them down on the couch. He does, then starts pacing. Unconscious soothing floats through the air.  
Grillby's eyebrows raise.  
 _They're empathic_. It's a statement, not a question. Sans is only a little startled - it's rare enough for Grillbz to speak, at least in a language besides his own. He quite dislikes Common. Thankfully, they have a compromise.  
He kneels in front of the couch, eyes sweeping them studiously.   
"are they okay?" The old elemental holds up a hand calmly. Sans visibly attempts to still himself, swallowing. The soothing intensifies. The old elemental stands and meets eyes with Sans's. He nods.  
Sans slumps into one of the chairs in relief. Grillby (as he is known nowadays, most commonly) indicates that he wait. Sans manages a nod, returning his gaze to the human (whose name he still hasn't learned) and hesitating about something. Grillbz leaves him to it. He won't meddle.  
Yet. (Too much, at least.)   
He enters through the fire exit (which, due to human safety regulations, is no longer made of actual fire, despite the fact that it was perfectly safe), pausing to assess the room. The patrons currently aware enough to lift their heads are staring silently, questioningly. A few are casting occasional glares at Klyde (not his real name, but the name he chose once they emerged, to 'integrate better into human society'. It was his decision, though the reasoning behind it was dubious.), but there are one or two whose faces are carefully smooth. He notes them with equal measures sympathy and disappointment, making a mental note to keep an eye on them if another human enters the bar in the future. Or if this one decides to return.   
He nods. Most of the tension in the air bleeds away, but a thin line of it remains unpleasantly heavy in the usually calm and warm atmosphere. Klyde himself is a mixture of snide, a small amount relieved, and a wedge of worrry. Grillby's shoes click as he approaches, suddenly the only sound besides those natural to life processes or automated. (They're very good quality shoes.) He says nothing, only holds out a hand. Klyde double-takes, nondescript fore-limbs clenching into what might be fists.   
"You're choosing them over me?!" His voice is generically angry. He's barely perceptible as male - and only because it's known that he is. His foreappendages tighten and untighten.  
"It's because they're human, isn't it?" He lets out a sardonic laugh.  
"It's because you're _too afraid_ to do anything, isn't it?! _You_ , you used to be a war veteran!" His voice cracks. Grillby waits, hand still outstretched, for Klyde's magic to settle somewhat. Mild sternness as well as disappointment roll off of him. He painstakingly speaks the longest stretch of Common most of the bar regulars have ever heard with carefully-chosen words.  
 _"This is a place of safety."_ He pauses, apparently steeling himself to speak further. _  
"You know this, but regardless you assaulted someone who had done nothing to deserve such treatment_."  
Klyde chokes on his words.  
"They-they're a human! In _our_ bar! _This is a place for monsters! What else_ are we going ot let them steal from us?!"   
There's the same absolute-seeming silence for an indeterminate amount of time before Kylde yanks off his apron and throws it at Grillby, striding to the door furiously.  
" _If_ you _won't protect monsters from the creatures that locked us Underground,_ I _will!_ " The cheery little bell jangles wildly as the door slams. Grillby waits several seconds before turning to address everyone else present   
 _"My bar is a place of safety. You all know this."_ He pauses again.  
 _"If there is anyone who takes issue with the presence of a peaceful human, please leave now_." No one moves. He nods, before picking up a glass and beginning to polish it. He has the beginnings of a _spectacular_ headache from speaking so much at once in a language that isn't natural for his species. Unfortunately, magic does not have a quick fix for _everything_. Sighing quietly, he looks questioningly at Red.  
"You need to go check back up on the human, boss?!" They sound unduly excited, but they are also near-perpetually drunk, and somewhat easily excited. He nods. They nod back emphatically.  
"I gotcha, Grillbz!!" They slur, and turn to start a speech about human equality in monster establishments. Grillby flickers with amusement before returning through the fire exit.  
He dislikes pain medicine on principle, but closing isn't for many hours, and closing early is unquestionable over such a small thing. He downs his dose before returning to the employee lounge.  
He'll have to hire someone to replace Klyde, but that's a problem for after the current ones.   
Thankfully, Sans speaks in hands. It's an uncommon language, but one that comes much more easily than that which most monsters use.   
He hates speaking Common.   
Sans freezes like a deer caught in the headlights when he enters the room, then relaxes again upon realizing his identity.  
The human is still asleep, but Grillby expected nothing else. Sans continues looking at him, practically begging for answers.  
 _They probably won't wake up for a while_. He lifts a hand to sign,  
 _why?,_ (sign, instead of speak) because it keeps him in practice to use it with Grillby. (He thought he saw a trace of nostalgia in his expression when he answered the question, years ago, but has never been sure.) He flickers thoughtfully.  
 _It's only a theory._ Sans waits.  
 _They were resistant to that type of magic for some reason, but he pushed anyway, and it caught up to them suddenly. They're stable, and in no danger. I would recommend encouraging them to ingest non-human food when they awaken._ They discuss the probability of the human - Yin, Sans tells Grillby their name is - actually being in any sort of danger, and Sans is more than slightly relieved to learn that Klyde is no longer present, containing thinly veiled anger. After a short time, the conversation lulls, Sans not insulting Klyde out of respect for his friend -and former employer- and his adoptive nephew. There are numerous topics they could speak about, some more relevant than others. Some that they do talk about.

Sans's browbone crinkles before his gaze strays to them again. He blinks, looks away.  
 _sorry. uh, got a question. haven't had a chance to ask_. His flames shift in acknowledgement. Sans has been busy - he's always been busy, whether of his own doing or because he was chasing after his brother, but nowadays it has a lot to do with the Embassy and his numerous jobs. Grillby  still isn't sure whether he has so many jobs because of financial need, or out of amusement. Sans is very good at masks. (He doesn't even seem to remember he's wearing one, most of the time,  
but anyone who's seen him without one knows whenever he is wearing one. It isn't as good of a disguise as he thinks, even if he is an actor Metatton should envy.)  
 _why would,_ he pauses. Brow furrows into lines. _why would a human have a multi-colored SOUL?  
_ Grillby sputters.  
 _Multi-colored? Are you_ sure _?_ Sans leans forward.  
 _you sound like you know somethin about it_. Grillby flickers, flames dimming as he remembers another age.  
 _Oh, yes. They were relatively rare, before the War, but not unheard of_. He crackles softly, eyes returning to the person laying on his couch.  
 _It was a combination of two somewhat unusual traits_. Sans looks more than mildly impatient. He takes his time nonetheless.  
 _Having a particularly.._. He swirls a hand. _Honest, open, or genuine_   _personality.._. He taps his fingers against the armchair he's sitting in.   
 _And being part monster_. _If I may ask, how many colors?_ Sans's eyes widen. It's a few moments before he speaks.   
 _ALL of them, Grillbz. ALL of them._ He signs quickly, excitement overtaking him. _they had more or less- some were only traces - but they had_ every color. He pauses, flushes.  
 _i, uh. i looked at their SOUL when it was in them, by accident. couldn't, uh, look away. they smacked me for it._    
Grillby's eyebrows go up. He's very well aware of Sans's low HP. (Not that it hasn't been getting a little higher, since they've gotten to the Surface. Many monster's have, but. Most monsters didn't used to have a max. HoPe of _one_.) Sans shakes his head.  
 _not a single decimal. hurt a bit, though_. He touches the zygomatic reflexively.   
 _kinda surprised it didn't hurt their hand, actually_. Grillby flares a little in amusement. Sans gives him a friendly stinkeye.  
 _yeah, yeah. laugh it up._  
 _You've known them for how long, exactly?_ (He can't resist teasing a little.) Sans flushes further.  
 _shut it, grillbz.  
_ ______________________________________________________________________________


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we return to the protagonist's perspective.

You wake up groggy and disoriented. That's not too unusual.  
You don't know where you are, which is. Your thoughts snap to the last thing you remember, which was....  
...talking with Sans. _Dammit_. You must've been drugged or something - magic roofie? You don't know. - but it's not like you even _drank_ something, and are pretty sure you would've noticed if someone pricked you. Your mind is racing with the speed of someone trying to figure out if they've been kidnapped or not. On the one hand, the last thing you remember is talking to Sans, and you're not exactly narcoleptic. On the other hand, he's not exactly the only person who could've knocked you out, or it could be some weird medical thing (highly unlikely, but a possibility) or someone _else_ could've done it.  
Whatever 'it' is. You aren't in pain, naked, or gross-feeling, so you probably haven't been raped, because who roofies and rapes someone and then cleans them up? That's largely relieving. You're lying somewhere rather comfortable, bt it isn't a bed- there's a backrest. You're on a sofa, probably. Okay. Okay. Where do you know that has a sofa? Not the restaurant. What the hell happened?!   
You continue pretending to be asleep, before realizing that if there are any monsters in the room, they already know you're awake. You bolt upright (your head does not thank you for that, giving you a mild sense of vertigo), eyes darting around. A mildly stunned-looking Sans is standing partway across the room (a familiar-feeling room, but you've never been here. _Where_ are you?) and you shift defensively, removing the blanket that was draped over you and standing slowly. Your eyes never leave his. (You don't feel anyone else in the room. You're not sure, but you aren't taking your eyes off him.) Your voice is...something. Not angry, but something.  
"Where am I, Sans." _Threatening_. That might be it. Not quite cold, not quite detached.  
A clinical, detached sort of feeeling (I might have to _hurt_ this person, because otherwise he might hurt me.) settles over you. His eyesockets are slightly wide, and he slowly raises his hands. His voice is low. An attempt at de-escalation.  
"easy, kid. let's just talk, okay? no need for anyone to get hurt." You feel his walls lower again. The wind is partially sucked out of you in relief. His voice is slow, too.  
"easy, alright? 'm not gonna hurt you, am i?" He's slowly started approaching. You wince back, still uncertain, and he stops.  
"okay. okay, i'll stay here. alright?" His eyes never leave yours. You take in a shuddering breath that's thankfully silent. He backs up pacedly, sits in one of the armchairs. You risk a look at the rest of the room. You're the only two here, and the only door is visible facing this way. Of course, who's to say Sans is the only monster that can travel through that strange dark place, or what the limmitations of it are? Reluctantly, you sit. You'd like to put the blanket over your legs, because honestly you're freaked out and blankets are soothing, obviously, but you don't know what's going on and feel the need to stay alert, as well as without the delay of movement that would cause, which is the main issue. You hide your hands in your coat pockets, because they're starting to shake, even though it's a moot point. (You don't show people who might be a danger to you that you're afraid - it gives them power over you.) Sans looks like he's swallowed something too big and his throat hurts. (It's hard to tell what he feels like- when you're freaking out, that is.) But he doesn't really have a throat, huh? A small laugh bubbles out of your own. You don't ask where you are again - you're very near tears, and you can't talk when you're overly emotional. The tone never ever comes out right, and it hurts to talk and try to keep from crying at the same time.  
The door opens, and you tense. The bartender (you never learned his name unfortunately) steps in, adding to your confusion. Sans's eyes flick back over to you and your face reddens in embarrasment and embarassment turned to anger and the remaining core of fear, like a dog chewing on a bone. Your fists clench in your pocket, and you focus on inhaling soundlessly. Count the breaths. The fire-person approaches, and you're focusing on too many things to react until he's knelt smoothly in front of you, blocking Sans from view. The tears finally become too much to hold back, and the beginning of them streams down your face. You rub at it angrily with the back of one hand making a small noise that's much too vulnerable and you just want to be _alone_ right now, not crying in front of strangers and ashamed and embarassed- the flame man holds out his hands, palms up. The feeling from him is steady and comforting. There's no hint of malice, or really anything except sturdy, calm patience. Or maybe _understanding_ would be a better word. You hiccup, wipe the back of you hand against your shirt (he's made of fire, and you don't want to take a chance) before hesitatingly placing your hands in his, palms down. Immediately, it feels as though you've been wrapped in a hug by an old friend. The tears continue, but they're out of relief. He remains, steady and calm and understanding, until you calm somewhat. A voice that sounds like fire crackling and embers floating toward the night sky.  
_Hello._  You swallow and blink in surprise.  
"H-hello," you murmur, voice scratchy and uncomfortable.   
_Can you talk like this?_ You swallow, shake your head.  
_Have you ever tried?_ That gives you pause. You reach inward, then outward, mentally.   
_Almost. May I show you how I do it?_ You nod without compunction. A sensation - how to _speak_ , in a language that feels more at home than English, that you don't even have to open your mouth to use, if you don't want - is shown to you. And suddenly, you _understand_. At least, you think you do.  
_H-hello?_ You try cautiously. And then a small smile breaks out, because you _did_ it, and it's something _new_ and it's not quite _right_ , exactly, but you think you'll figure it out. He doesn't have a mouth, but you see him smile.  
_Hello, young one. It is good to meet another elemental_. You are surprised. Speech comes more easily in this new tongue.  
_Elemental? Is that a kind of monster? I'm human._ You're getting better at the crackling. You actually hear one  _aloud_! He's pleased that you're pleased, and maybe about something else? Small victories, at least.  
_The two are not always exclusive. Yes, an elemental is a type of monster,_ and then a word that doesn't sound the same, but you think means 'young one'. It's comprised only of crackling and popping, no words. Well, no...internal _sound_ of English, like you've been hearing. You try to repeat it, but can't get it quite right. You try again, and he crackles in amusement. You flush and look away, embarassed.  
_Do not be ashamed, **young one**. You're learning quickly_. You preen, slightly. Then remember you couldn't pronounce it, and come back down a little. He's still smiling, vaguely fond. It feels natural and gives you no reason to distrust him. So you don't, even if a niggling voice at the back of your mind tells you you _should_. You're left with wondering, again, where you are.  
_Now. Why were you afraid? Sans did not upset you, did he?_ You hesitate, shake your head.  
_I woke up somewhere unfamiliar. That is quite unusual for me._ You swallow.  
_As well as the fact that I fell asleep in the presence of strangers_. You don't feel the need to alter your speech patterns to be more... _modern_ , with this person. Often, they would sound presumptious or haughty in conversation. This isn't such a conversation.   
More comfort drapes over you, promising safety.  
_You have my apologies. A former employee decided it would be amusing to play a trick on you. There is no permanent harm, to my knowledge, but you should be feeling quite tired. Food will help._ You nod. Then pause.  
_Former?_ He flickers in annoyance, though not at you.  
_He assaulted a customer. Sans may not have told you, but my bar is a place of safety, regardless of species or affiliation. Such behavior is not tolerated, by patrons or those under my employ._  He flickers in consideration, anger abating.  
_Perhaps he will reconsider, now_. You blink at him, mind brought down another track.  
"....How certain are you, that I'm not human?" It tumbles out in English, the thought too chaotically mixed to keep for another second.  
_Quite. Humans - with the exception of some mages - cannot understand this language, let alone speak it_. His 'hair' wavers.  
_There is also the matter of your SOUL. Sans tells me it is multi-colored, which is...distinguishable_. He changes his hold on your hands, putting both of them in one and covering them with his own. It's warm, as you might expect, but not hot. His next words are a little careful, as if he's put great thought into them.  
_It is a fools hope, perhaps...but my sister went missing, during the war. You are part elemental, and you remind me of her, somewhat. You have a similar feeling - although she was much more headstrong, I think_. You blink. Someone _more_ headstrong than you? They were probably a pain in the ass. She. _She_ was probably a pain in the ass. (But everyone has traits like that.) He chuckles slightly at your expression.  
_Indeed._ There's another partial second's pause.  
_However, you must be hungry. I shall have to ask at another time; it would be inconsiderate of me to ask such a thing of you, at the moment._ You wonder briefly what it is, before he releases your hands. You're disappointed at the lack of contact.  
_Trust your first instinct about Sans. He would go to great pains to prevent harm to come to an innocent_. You blink at him again. He tips his head in a goodbye before leaving. You're a little perplexed - and kind of curious about his sister, just a little bit-and only barely manage to nod in return before he's off, presumably to do bar-tendery things.   
You note that unfortunately overalls are _not_ the most comfortable things to sleep in.   
_Dammit_. You really want to curl up somewhere and wrap yourself in a blanket (or another person, but let's be realistic), but considering that this isn't even. Your place. You grumpily stare at the floor. Sans approaches cautiously. You look up, and he freezes as if caught (amusing, considering that he was obviously trying not to scare you.)  
_So_. You clear your throat. He stares incomprehensively. You try again.  
_Sans?_ There's no flicker of recognition that he knows what you're saying. He does something with his hands, but it's too fast for you to see. He slows it down. You catch a few words.  
_You...speak..hands?_ You shake your head.  
"Not intrinsically." He blinks, looks a little relieved and just slightly disappointed, but mostly like he expected it. You don't like speaking in this tongue after using the other one.   
It felt like coming home, oddly.  
_You really don't understand me?_ His eyesockets crinkle. You make a small expression of distaste, but speak in English anyway.  
"You really don't understand me?" You ask. He shakes his head.   
"Hmm." He (somewhat warily) approaches, seeming worried that you'll spook again. You raise an eyebrow.  
"Fair warning. If you sit with me, I'm gonna use you as a pillow." You hope that joke isn't over-stepping boundaries. In your peripheral vision, Sans is surprised, then surprised and mildly pleased, though he tries to keep most of the latter off his face. He sits beside you. You waver, uncertain. _Oh, to hell with it. At least if he runs away I'll know his mettle_. Plus, you _did_ warn him. You blink at him a few times, squint-eyed, then lay down sideways with your head on his lap.  
Considering that he's a skeleton, it's surprisingly well-padded. You squint up at him.  
"How the hell does it feel like you're _not_ a skeleton?" He grins down, a little goofily.  
"you trying to _get in my pants?_ " You flush, and move to sit up. He gently (not forcefully) presses you back.  
"alright, alright, i'll stop. i've got a _skeleton_ of tricks up my sleeves." You jump and make a surprised noise as something touches your hair. He pauses.  
"...this okay?" He inquires cautiously, hand still. You make a non-commital noise, not sure yet, and fingers are drawn through your hair.  
You sink into the couch bonelessly with a sigh.  
"guess that's a yes." He doesn't sound _amused_ so much as _curious_.  
"Mn." You figure you should probably respond to at least every third statement. That doesn't mean you aren't going to sound half-asleep when you do so. He catches a spot that makes your nerves jump.  
" _whoa!_ sorry, sorry," Sans is way too worried. You roll onto your back to blink tiredly up at him.  
"S'fine. Just..nerve endings...bundles...things. Doesn' hurt.." You close your eyes partway through, cover your mouth at the end as a yawn comes on, rolling back onto your side. His fingers hesitantly find their way into your hair again. You murmur, and he decides that it can't possibly hurt if you're so unconcerned, even if it the possibility of you jumping as if mildly electrocuted without warning is somewhat alarming.  
...He's not skittish. Not at all. Sans realizes that you're talking, if very quietly, and leans down to hear.  
"...sorry 'bout...whackin you, by the way. Wouldn' do i' again. Too...tiny." The rest is unintelligible, and he realizes they're falling asleep. He stops petting.  
"uh. you should probably, uh, eat somethin." They make a disagreeing, not-very-conscious sort of noise. He scratches behind their ear lightly, and they let out a pleased, windy exhale. He makes note of that before gently taking hold of their shouldersand lifting them. They're limp, but make a noise of protest.  
"you'll be less tired if you eat. monster food goes straight to energy." They mutter something like  
"Don' wanna ea'..sleep.." He huffs in minute amusement. Is this how Papyrus feels when he has to wake him up? Probably not.   
"c'mon, sleepyhead." He shakes them, just a little. They make a sound of displeasure before attempting to burrow back into either the couch or his shirt.   
"i'm gonna pick you up if you don't wake up." They mutter unintelligibly. He bites what passes as a lip so he doesn't laugh, before letting go of them. They slump onto the couch.  
He slings them over a shoulder. They protest lowly before shifting into a more comfortable position and going back to sleep. He shakes his head and carries them out of the break room, pushing it open with his shoulder. He gets more than a few odd looks, but they're mostly out of curiosity for what kind of a joke or prank _this_ is. He considers trying to prop them up on a barstool, but they would probably fall off of it. He doesn't want to add 'concussion' to the list of things that have happened to them that could be considered his fault today. He heads for a booth instead, shifting them into his arms. They are utterly unconcerned. He catches Grillby's eye on the way over. Grillbz nods. Sans moves them in with magic before sliding in beside them. Ginger - a cheerful rabbit woman - comes by to take their order.  
"two burgs, side'a ketchup, some water. i'll try ta wake sleepyhead here up." She smiles as she takes down the order.  
"thanks, ging. i know grillbz won't touch the stuff." He winks. She giggles before going to fill the order. He exhales through his nasal cavity. _how to wake them up_... Shaking didn't work at all. Maybe calling their name?  
"Yin?" He thinks he sees their eyes move behind their eyelids.  
"Yin?" They move, make an annoyed noise, settle back.  
"Yin, upsadaisy. time fer grub." Their eyes open, unfocused and watery. They yawn without covering their mouth. He can see the back of their throat, which is kind of weird. Maybe that's why humans cover their mouths all the time. They blink blearily at him, voice groggy.  
"Sans?" They're huddled into their jacket like a bird with fluffed-up feathers. His perpetual grin is present, but he forcibly keeps it from widening at the sight.  
"heh. and Pap calls _me_ a lazybones." One of their eyes slims, and they yawn again.  
"Ehhh. 'M onna go back ta sleep..."  
"you gotta eat somethin, Bird." It's not quite complete, as a nickname. They reopen one eye partway, like a cat disturbed from a nap.  
"Did you just call me 'bird'?" His grin does widen this time. They yawn again, struggling upright.  
"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or what. Usually people just call me a cat and are done with it." He snorts. They pick up steam, apparently interested enough in the topic to remain awake.  
"Mn. 'S not like grooming is an unusual behavior, especially not for primates. Actually, it's a constant between numerous species. Did you know rats groom each other to determine social dominance? Pigs, conversely, rub each others' bellies, but the ones _getting_ the belly rubs are actually the dominant ones. Rats just hold each other down and run their teeth through." They're a little more bright-eyed. They make a face.  
"Of course, it might also have something to do with the fact that I used to meow instead of talking half the time," they remark humorously, then shake their head.  
"But, that's neither here nor there. You know rather a lot about me, I think, considering we just met." Considering he knows their SOUL color, that it changes, that they're genderfluid (yes, they're 'out', and have been since they figured out their gender, but sometimes they don't have the opportunity to explain it to new people, and it's difficult after the first meeting to correct because then they apologize and apologize and it's just _annoying_.), has seen them _sleep_ , and probably knew before they did that they aren't entirely human.  
Yeah. Considering, he knows a lot about them.  
"And, as much as I love talking about myself, it's rude to _hog_ the conversation." It had been a long shot, andthey were worried about coming off as obnoxious, but he looked like he'd just found a rare butterfly - that wide-eyed amazement/happiness. They untense a little and slow down.  
"Pretty much all I know about you is that you're a skeleton, you're a doctor-in what, exactly? If you don't mind my asking-and that you can do that....thing, with the dark place, and that you know more about SOULs than I do. Which. Admittedly, is not a very _tall_ order." Ha. Short jokes. _Everybody_ hates those. His grin just seems to get wider. He actually _enjoys_ the joke. (Usually, people start looking a little uncomfortable by now. And they tone it back, but they remember that _this person_ can't handle them the way they really are, and...they prefer to know that sooner rather than later, honestly.) Sans, meanwhile, looks more than a little thrilled, but also like he can hear their thoughts.  
Or, their mood. Right. Empathic.  
Throwing up a wall is....easy. He looks a little shocked. His own wall (Which was already a quarter raised) slowly goes up.  
They shake their head.  
"Just...need a minute. Not used to other people being able to, uh. _Tell_. Y'know?" He blinks, then looks like yes, he understands entirely. They take a few moments to compose themself before re-lowering it.  
Oh, well. Might as well shoot the horse. They prop their chin up on one hand.  
"So. When you gonna get tired of me?" He's...shocked isn't quite an adequate word for the _depth_ this reaches. The rest of it disappears behind the wall. They continue, because they've already dug the hole. Might as well see how far they can go.  
"I mean, everyone does. At first, it's 'oh, you're so charmingly honest!' or 'funny' or 'cute'. Then they get tired of someone who won't pretend to be normal. Or they expect me to act the same way all the time - like a circus act. And I'm gonna tell you right now: I'm not a performer." They pause, leaning back against the booth.  
"I say this, because you seem like a pretty cool dude, and mostly I don't want to get my hopes up about being friends or some shit like that. So. I figure we get burgers, you do that...SOUL thing you were gonna do, and I go home and get on with my life without worrying about making a good- _false_ -impression. Because I'm sick of doing that." That hangs in the air for a few seconds.  
"Sorry. Usually I'd let it go on a bit longer, but I'm a little antsy today." They can't tell what he's thinking because they're afraid to look, so they're _not_. Looking, that is. Or feeling. They trace patterns in the wood grain with their eyes.   
"....hey. i think you should meet someone." They blink, eyes still glued to the table.  
"i'll be right back." And then he's gone. And they're left wondering how long this will last before he decides that no, they're not worth the effort.  
Like everyone does. The thought fills them with RESIGNATION.   
The food arrives within about half a minute of Sans leaving. They're not sure he'll be back, anyway. 


End file.
